On record, Joe Jackson has always seemed a likable fellow, quite
bright, willing to tackle big issues lyrically but not too pretentious
about it. Sure he proved how little well-meaning had to do with rock
and roll, but it was hard for us not to respect the tense eclecticism
of his musical craft. This utterly workaday concert tape, shot one
quiet October evening in Tokyo a few years back, changed our minds. A
hundred ten minutes is a serious acid bath for an adenoidal middlebrow
who eschews pretension and still isn't as deep as he thinks he is.

We didn't mind looking at Jackson's ugly-and-proud mug, though its
intrinsic interest wasn't enhanced by the randomly melodramatic
lighting and smoke closeups. What we minded was not being able to
ignore him, which must be how we tolerated his records. It didn't help
that a preponderance of the material was from his negligible Big
World album, but it soon became clear that Jackson can tackle the
issues in staples like "Sunday Papers," "Cancer," and "Breaking Us in
Two" only because they're standing still. And while his band executed
salsa, Middle Eastern, jazz, and jump blues colors with the
appropriate competence, before an hour was up we were longing for the
real thing--any real thing.

What destroyed our remaining sympathy was the impersonation of a
slack-jawed, Hawaiian-shirted Yank tourist that spiced up "The Jet
Set." It was hard to tell what his fans thought of it, though they
responded with the same polite enthusiasm that greeted the rest of his
cliches. Actually, it was hard to tell how happy they were to get
three encores. Arghh.